


amuse-bouche

by PunkHazard



Series: pan pacifica [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stacker Pentecost has been in the industry for a very long time; one thing he's learned, above all else, is that success in the food business doesn't come cheap. Few people are worth it, but you hold on to the ones that are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> moved a few chapters of 森 here, since the former is technically a standalone fic.

Scraping her fork across the plate for the last few streaks of sauce, Mako glances through her fringe at the four men standing in front of her, arms crossed over their chests. It's rare that sensei gets competitive with the triplets, but the brothers wheedle him to go head to head with them all the time. They have a day off, Hu hit a nerve when he implied that Stacker's palate might be stagnating because of his age, then--

「Sorry,」 Mako announces, licking her lips, 「I can't decide! Everyone's dish is delicious in their own ways.」

「I bet that means we win,」 Jin laughs, 「since Mako wouldn't hesitate if the boss made the best dish.」

「Sensei told me to be objective,」 Mako shoots back, 「but if you want me to disqualify you from tying for first place, I can do that.」

He backs down, fighting a grin. Hu's the one who leans forward onto the counter, ever the studious chef. 「We made the same thing from the same recipe,」 he says, 「what do you mean they're delicious in 'their own ways'?」

「I would want to eat sensei and Cheung-nii's dish when I'm tired or lonely,」 she explains, 「but when I'm out with my friends I'd want them to try Jin-nii and Hu-nii's. Even if it's the same recipe, the taste changes depending on who makes it.」

That gets four curious looks. Mako always did have the best palate out of all of them (followed by the triplets, then Stacker)-- she'd grown up around food, tasting the best restaurants have to offer, whether they're Stacker's own or the competition. Cheung's the one who asks, glancing quickly at Stacker with a wry grin to show that he means it innocently. 「So what's my taste, Mako?」

「Mine too!」

「And me!」

"I'm," Stacker pauses, trying not to look as interested in the topic as the brothers and failing miserably, "a bit curious as well."

Mako smiles slightly, immediately flicking the edge of Cheung's plate. 「Cheung-nii is always light on salt, the flavor is mild and warm. It tastes a little Chinese, even when it's French. I think it would be very good to someone who had a long day or who just came home after a long trip because it's easy on your tongue, especially in Hong Kong.」

「Ah, it's true.」 Hu grins, nudging Cheung on the hip with his foot. 「Whenever we travel, we always want big bro to cook. He serves everything a few degrees hotter than the rest of us too.」

Mako turns to Jin next-- he was the first to ask after Cheung. 「Jin-nii always adds something extra that changes the flavor. Presentation is a little messy, but the taste is bold and interesting.」 She looks at Stacker, as if trying to reassure him that Jin doesn't experiment on any of the restaurant dishes-- only his own. 「He replaces basil with dill and sage, and cayenne with chili oil. It doesn't work all the time, but it's exciting. I'd want people I like to try it.」

Jin nods a bit. It's true, after all-- he gets bored reading off recipes, and doesn’t have the control to power through it when he's cooking for himself. 「Hu, then?」

「Sophisticated and balanced. Very good but,」 Mako holds her hands apart, gesturing vaguely, 「distant. I think Hu-nii only loosens up when he's cooking for staff, he makes the best family meals. The technique and knifework is always impressive.」

「Yeah,」 Cheung confirms, 「Hu's a perfectionist. A bit less with Chinese food, since we never really wrote out those recipes.」

「At least it's good! What about chef's? Come on, Mako.」

"Sensei's cooking is traditional and classic." Mako switches to English, having clearly thought more about Pentecost's cooking that she has anyone else's, eager to give them her analysis, "Even though it's presented in a modern style, I think the flavor is exactly the way French food is supposed to taste. But when sensei puts all his experience into creating new dishes, they're deeper and more delicious than anyone else's."

Jin pouts slightly, jaw jutting forward. "She means you're old, chef."

Before Stacker can respond, Cheung lightly smacks his brother on the shoulder, though they're all laughing. On a whim, he tosses out, "What about Chuck's?"

A grimace. "Just thinking about who cooks it makes me not want to eat."

Hu doubles over. When he looks up, he makes a face and jerks a thumb over his shoulder in a general southerly direction. 「Right! It tastes fine, but just thinking about his smug face makes me lose my appetite.」

「He doesn't really get that we're in Hong Kong, either.」 Jin twists his expression to look as scrunched as possible. 「'But we did it like this in France!' We're not in France.」

"Alright," Stacker interrupts, trying to be stern and mostly failing, "that's enough."

「Sorry chef!」

「We'll stop, we'll stop.」

Cheung swipes up the plates and utensils they'd used, passing them to Hu to ferry to the sink with all the other pots and pans. Jin pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and picks up a scrub. After a few seconds, Mako pushes her seat back and joins them while Stacker takes a towel and starts drying dishware as Hu passes them to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the prompt was 'new baby'

It’s been months since Stacker’d been back to this neighborhood of Toronto— he doesn’t know whether or not the Weis will remember him or what’s been going on in their lives but for his part, he’s seen some drastic changes. The idea of courting them for maybe the fifth time and being turned down (again) is hardly an appealing thought, but he didn’t end up with two restaurants across Asia because he takes ‘no’s sitting down.

All that aside, Mako’s finally good to travel, all her papers and documents finalized (the process is short for a man with money, a clean [adult] record and several medals from his time in service) and she’s been unquenchingly curious about Chinese food lately. When they step into the small, dimly-lit restaurant with its old plastic seats and dented tables, Mako wrinkles her nose and three heads take turns peering out of the kitchen door’s little glass window.

Stacker orders a plate of duck tongue to start, a cold appetizer, hoping Mako will learn to eat all sorts of things before she’s old enough to know to be disgusted; it had taken him years to come around to the idea that quite literally anything can be food.

The triplet who serves the dish looks at Mako curiously and greets Stacker with a familiar grin and a nod, hurrying back into the kitchen when one of his brothers shouts for him to get back to work. Mako digs in hesitantly but manages to clear half the plate before the next few cold dishes arrive, then a main plate of roast pork, another of sauteed bok choy (quickly tossed with wine and garlic in a wok so hot Stacker cringes at the thought of actually using it to cook), tofu with mushrooms and squash.

By the time he wanders into the kitchen (against the rules, technically, but the Weis never seemed to mind), the brothers seem prepared for him, three of them briefly asking after himself and Mako, and how they enjoyed their lunch.

“My offer,” Stacker says after the formalities, Mako clinging to his pant leg, “still stands. I understand your obligations to your family, so I won’t pressure you but—”

“Actually,” says Cheung, giving him a wry smile while Hu and Jin cajole Mako into checking out their kitchen, “our father wants to sell this place and retire within the next year. If you still want us then, we can go.”

Glancing after the two younger triplets disappearing into the fridge with Mako hot on their heels, Stacker nods slowly and extends a hand, shaking Cheung’s to seal the deal. “Then—” he pauses, having to gather his thoughts to account for the unexpected response, “if there’s anything you need in the meantime, you know how to reach me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Most mornings, Stacker has time to appreciate the text abbreviations he and his crew have developed over the years, yc for ‘yes chef’ being the most distinctive, while WNMOFMPX (‘we need more onions for mirepoix’) usually takes him a few seconds to puzzle out. Not on mornings when he has a raging headache though, or when Mako’s down with a flu. He takes the train to work, changes and steps into his kitchen. A chorus of ‘Morning chef!’ greets him.

“I got your text,” he says to Cheung, motioning him over and showing him his phone, “but you’ll have to remind me what SIOTS means.”

“Stock is on the stove, chef.” Cheung looks at him, head cocking minutely to the right before he approaches, stepping around the counter and in close. Still, he’s acutely aware of how much Stacker hates to be touched so he keeps his distance. “Are you okay?”

Sighing, Stacker returns his phone to his pocket and tries not to wince at the sound of a voice so close to his ear. Cheung’s always been perceptive, sometimes inconveniently so, but he backs off when Stacker gives him a look, skipping straight to business. “Mako is home with the flu, so we’ll be shorthanded out front today. Hu, if you would?”

“Yuna said she can fill in if one of us gets sick,” Hu answers immediately, “since So-yi can handle the bakery after prep in the morning. I can take the front.”

“Call her.”

“Yes chef.”

“Jin, progress on the veal stock.”

“Straining in an hour, chef.”

“Good.” Stacker turns to Cheung— then pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds, mind suddenly blank except for the throbbing ache in his temples. He exhales, then leans on the counter in front of him. “You’ll expedite today.”

Jin abruptly looks up from his station, halfway through filleting a fish. “Is he okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry chef,” Cheung mutters, pressing a palm to Stacker’s forehead, other hand wrapping under his upper arm, keeping him firmly upright. 「Feels like a fever.」

「Wasn’t he here yesterday too?」

「With a fever? Should we call someone?」

“No. Don’t call anyone, I’m fine.”

「Might be whatever Mako has,」 Cheung sighs. He doesn’t expect Pentecost to take sick days, but just the fact that Stacker hasn’t pushed him away yet and might actually be leaning into his grip— that’s a bit alarming. “Chef, go rest in your office. We can take it from here.”

Jin ducks into the locker room without prompting, emerging with a small bottle of painkillers they usually use for hangovers and muscle aches while Hu immediately swipes up a mug and starts a cup of tea. Jin tosses his loot to Cheung, who nearly has to drag Stacker back into his office and the couch in it. They move with the same efficiency they do everything else; Cheung presses a capsule into his hand and sets the tea in front of him while Hu grabs a blanket out of the closet, and a pillow.

Jin stays in the kitchen, checking on any pots still over a fire, finishing whatever Cheung and Hu had left on their cutting boards and then cleaning their stations.

“This,” Stacker says indignantly when Cheung motions for him to take off his shoes and lie down on the couch, “is completely unnecessary.”

“You won’t go to a doctor because you don’t want to miss lunch service,” Hu retorts, “even though you make me and my brothers leave when we get hurt or sick. And we can’t make you go home, so just rest here and if something happens, we’ll wake you up.”

The brothers breeze out, shutting the light and the door behind them. The part of Stacker that’s offended they think so little of his constitution is mildly offset by their obvious concern; maybe he really isn’t as young as he used to be, but he doesn’t have any intention of going home, either. He kicks off his shoes, stretches out on the couch (the triplets have used it themselves more than once, mostly when one was sick but wanted to be on hand)—

When Stacker wakes up what feels like several hours later, the kitchen’s already going at full speed outside his door. A fresh pot of tea sits on the table in front of him, along with a thermos filled with still-steaming chicken soup. There’s enough light coming from the half-drawn windows for Stacker to make out some rice in the bottom. The soup is clear and light but flavorful, a few sliced green onions floating on top. Cheung steps in just as he finishes eating, poking his head around the door.

“Feeling better, chef?”

Stacker gestures briefly at the thermos. The soup was delicious, but he’d clearly tasted scallions and ginger and peppercorns in it; it’s not how they make broth for the restaurant. “You started a new pot of chicken stock?”

“I’m on staff meal today,” answers Cheung, setting a half-used pack of surgical masks on the table, “so I figured I might as well go with something for the weather. Was it good?”

“It was. Makes me wish we could put it on the menu.”

He looks inordinately happy about that answer but says nothing, usual calm smile quirking into a full-blown grin as he leaves; Stacker doesn’t push him, as Cheung never was particularly forthcoming with details. Still, there should be plenty of soup left to bring home for Mako. After a few minutes Stacker takes a mask and stands up, headache gone, and joins his brigade in the kitchen.

(Later, when he asks Jin about it: ‘Our mom made this soup for us whenever we used to get sick, Cheung picked it up from her. Dad was the chef, but chicken soup is home, you know?’)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt was: who teaches mako to cook?

Hu would be insulted by it, if he didn’t know for a fact that Pentecost holds Mako in the highest regard, his estimation of her potential and her abilities absurdly high for an eleven-year-old. Still, she needs a box to stand on in order to reach the counter, a chef’s knife dwarfing her hand so much that he considers offering her a paring knife instead. (He doesn’t; she’d probably stab him with it if he tried.)

Stacker’s in front of them, his own knife in hand and a halved onion in front of him. The brothers are more accustomed to their cleaver-shaped chef’s knives, the ones they can pick up for about twelve dollars a pop in a Chinese grocery— practical, all-purpose and perfect for the food they had to churn out for the family restaurant. They have regular chef’s knives for the moment: new ones, edges so sharp Cheung makes sure to keep the blade and the point compulsively turned away from any limbs and people he considers important. 

But it’s light, well-balanced in hand, and Hu would be lying if he said he didn’t love a good sharp knife. He normally wouldn’t mean the cooking kind, though. 

Mako sneaks glances at the brothers as Stacker demonstrates how to dice an onion, then slice. It’s nothing new for the Weis, who’ve been doing that kind of thing since they were children, but Mako slowly, deliberately makes each cut to meticulously precise widths, face lowered to the cutting board. She’s shaken out of her laser-eyed focus when the sound of eerily in-sync chopping next to her stops all at once, Cheung regarding his knife and a small pile of perfectly-cut onions in front of him with a fair degree of apprehension.

“It’s sharp,” he comments to Stacker, then glances over to check his brothers’ work. “We’d probably be faster with our cleavers, though.”

“No doubt,” Pentecost answers, picking through the onions on Hu’s cutting board, then Jin, nodding in approval, “but you’d benefit from familiarizing yourself with these tools as well. Carrots next.” 

Mako speeds up slightly, trying not to be left behind while the brothers start distributing carrots. Cheung drops a hand to her shoulder without even looking at her, a silent reminder to slow down. Sensei had already told her that he didn’t expect her to be cooking at the same level as the triplets just yet (they are, after all, five years older than her), so she shouldn’t feel rushed to keep up with their knife skills, either. She begrudgingly slows down, somewhat mollified by the proud, affectionate smile on Stacker’s face once she’s finished.

Regardless, once Stacker’s left them to their own devices— against all reason, he does trust the Weis to keep an eye on Mako while he’s busy seeing to the managerial aspect of running a restaurant— the first thing Mako does is grab another onion.

“Hey Mako,” Jin says, taking an onion of his own and digging his cleaver out of his own bag, “do you wanna see something cool?”

Mako nods enthusiastically while Cheung immediately pops open the first-aid kit stashed in a corner of the kitchen, checking for supplies. 

Hu glances at his phone for the time, just in case he’ll have to rub it in Jin’s face later. “Alright,” he laughs, grabbing Jin’s cutting board to wash before setting it back on the counter, ”my favorite last words.”


End file.
